


Perestraivat

by bvckybcrnes



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Notebooks, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Psychology, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-11 13:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5627770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bvckybcrnes/pseuds/bvckybcrnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes, fugitive from HYDRA, normal citizen for the world. A regular man with a bionic arm, haunted by his troubled past. How does he cope with what he's done? How does he deal with the continuous grim reminders of his Dog Days in a Nazi dungeon?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood, Sweat and Tears

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains strong sexual violence/abuse!
> 
> Aaaand there may be a bunch of typos along the way, for which I apologize.  
> Aaaand it might look obvious that the writing style in this one isn't exactly consistent because my chapter updates are incredibly irregular and inbetween other works I'm writing on (aka I suppose the further you read the better it'll seem due to more experience/training, which makes me feel forced to revamp half of this work...)

Restraint means pain.  
Disobeying means trouble.

“Mission report.” A voice as cold as the walls of the room they were in killed the moment between the small group of men. It chased the soft sounds of a beaten up man breathing heavily. His small gasps stopped as soon as he was dropped to the floor by the two guys that supported him, leading their Asset from their van to their current location. His body hit the concrete floor with a thud. Sweaty strands of hair stuck to his scruffy, bleeding face as he tried to push himself up.  
He didn’t answer. His gaze was set on the bionic hand that pushed his body up so that he could sit. A groan passed his lips when one of his colleagues grabbed the back of his head, pulling his hair with a fierce fist. He was forced to look up, sitting on his knees. 

“Mission report!” the voice repeated. It was stern, coming from the cruel looks of Alexander Pierce, the guy in charge of all these men around his well-dressed form. All of them kind of looked like military men, all black with usually big, threatening weapons. The one on the floor was different. He was their weapon. Their Asset. Their Soldier.

The man holding his hair, inflicting pain on his scalp, was Brock Rumlow. He disliked that guy. In fact, he hated all of the men in this room. No…he didn’t hate them. He…didn’t really know how he felt towards them. They were a confusing kind of people who didn’t bring him much certainty in the miserable life he was living.  
Rumlow buried his heavy boot in his crotch, keeping his sweaty fist tangled in the Asset’s hair when he shrieked out in pure terror. A shiver of pain ran through his spine, making him crave to curl up on that cold, dirty floor even more than before. 

They already knew the answer. Why the fuck would he have to repeat himself. They were right there. They watched him fuck up for the first time in all those years and had beaten him up right on the spot for putting the entirety of HYDRA in grave danger. Maybe it was just for Pierce’s pleasure. Bunch of sadists. Besides, how was he expected to give an answer with Rumlow molesting his crotch?  
Pierce gave a sign to his man, telling Brock Rumlow to stand back and let go of the Asset’s hair. The man listened and did what his boss wanted him to do. The Soldier soon found himself being forced back on his knees, having Rumlow pointing a gun against his temple once Alexander Pierce had kneeled down in front of him. The blonde sat at a safe distance while he let his eyes scan his best weapon first. Every single man in the room watched closely, not making any sound. Again, the only thing that could be heard was the Asset breathing heavily. His pink, plump lips were slightly parted and hidden behind a curtain of slick strands of messy hair. He was sweating like a pig, still wearing the uniform they’d designed for him. 

“Mission report.” Pierce’s voice was much softer than the previous attempts. 

“Negative.” The Asset’s voice was hoarse, like always. He didn’t need to talk much, and once he did, he just sounded either silent or hoarse. It was hoarse, combined with clear signs of discomfort and pain. His skull felt like it was on fire after they beat him up and his crotch just…hurt like hell.

A warm hum came from Pierce while he got back up on his feet. He didn’t say anything else and just flinched a hand, letting his men know it was time for them to leave the room so only the Asset would be left behind with Brock Rumlow.

Rumlow was an ass. Everyone at HYDRA kind of agreed on that. But to the Asset, he was a special kind of ass. Well, everyone always treated the Asset differently, but this was always in a rather negative way.

HYDRA had their own way of treating their supersoldier. They didn’t even keep in mind he was human. The Asset was reduced to nothing more than a weapon while on the field. Inside these walls he was simply HYDRA’s bitch. A dog, only good for receiving punches and taking cock. Neither of them was reward nor punishment according to Pierce and his guys. To the Soldier, taking cock felt more like a punishment than getting beaten up. And they knew it. They knew that their toy didn’t like dicks. He was as straight as a fucking ruler, which made the experience all the more exciting whenever one of them got to spend some time with the Asset after he did something wrong. They took full advantage of this. The nasty fuckers. They’d find any little reason to get the Soldier on his fours. They didn’t care about his human side. It was nothing according to them. Non-existent, just like the control the Asset had over himself, or just like his memories. 

The wide grin on Rumlow’s face already told the Asset that what was about to come next would be even worse than that damned chair he feared so much. There was only one thing about all the horrors he always managed to remember without any hesitation and it was that chair. The thing they used to clear his mind after every mission. Once Brock was done here, they’d wipe him once again and the Soldier won’t remember his failure from earlier nor the dick his throat was about to meet soon.

Rumlow never wasted any words on this. He just did what he had to do, nothing more. His hand reached out, grabbing the Asset’s hair again. He pulled it so that he could see the dirty face that was hidden behind sweaty strands of hair. “Let’s get this done quickly, right?” he said, nearly hissing in pleasure when he let go of the greasy hair again. His hands trailed over to the belt around his waist. The sound of Rumlow unbuckling his belt made the Asset squint his hurting eyes shut. The scent of sweat and piss that came with the small gesture of Brock pulling down the zipper of his pants made the other male’s stomach turn. If there was anything left in there to throw up, it’d be out on the floor by now. The Soldier kept his eyes squint, feeling himself curl up into a smaller ball for as far as he could without Rumlow noticing. He was in pain, an awful lot of pain and all he wanted was the floor to suck him up right here, right now.

But that didn’t happen, and it most likely won’t. The Asset only received confirmation of his troubled hurting head still being in this world when he heard the soft huffs from Rumlow who was pleasuring himself right in front of his eyes. The Soldier’s vision switched from sharp to blurry every now and then, the hard hits he’d taken to the face earlier that day were to blame. He wasn’t sure if the pain that came with it was a blessing or a curse at this very moment. Yes, it sort of censored the scene of Rumlow preparing himself, but the pain all over his face just made him feel like death was very much welcome right now, even more than ever since the Soldier knew what kind of a shitty life he was living.

The Asset felt too numb to resist once Rumlow grabbed him by the hair once again. They’d given him some really hard punches to the face, making him feel rather dizzy, confused and overall messed up. Besides, restraint would only mean more pain. Disobeying would only get him in even bigger trouble. The only thing the Asset could do was take that cock like a whore, just like Rumlow wanted it. He took it in, his eyes squint shut at the gross atmosphere that took over. He felt his stomach twist and twitch as soon as the warmth of Rumlow’s cock filled his mouth and part of his throat. The Soldier was too numb to react to it. His blood stained face didn’t really change its blank emotion when the other guy directed his moves by tugging at his hair. He felt Rumlow forcing his head back and forth, taking in as much of the length as Rumlow wanted him to. He’d be gagging if this wasn’t the first time, but just like his battle skills, HYDRA had thaught him how to take dick like a real whore. Obedient. 

This all felt like it took ages for the Asset. The countless times Rumlow had shoved his face in his crotch, forcing that stinking cock down the Soldier’s throat. The wounded male grew completely numb to all the pain he felt and just took it in like he was nothing more than some sex doll. A live sex doll whose mouth gave a warm home to Rumlow’s throbbing length. A whore who took in every inch of that sweaty cock, right until he reached his climax. A low, pleasured growl left Rumlow’s smirking lips as he threw his head back. He thrust his hips into the Asset’s mouth, filling him up with semen the Soldier would be forced to swallow. The injured man’s eyes widened in a split second when Brock came, only to squint them shut tightly immediately after again. Tears stung in their corners as he had to force himself to take in all of the cum that leaked out of Rumlow’s softening length. 

Brock pulled the Asset’s head away from his crotch, only to send a kick across the man’s face once he’d pulled his pants back up. The Soldier’s weakened body hit the floor with a thud, a small stream of blood leaving a fresh wound on his scruffy cheek. The dizzy view he had first soon made way for a cold darkness. 

“Finished?” the familiar voice of Alexander Pierce asked in the cold distance of the Asset’s shitty consciousness.

Rumlow mumbled something, to which Pierce only said a simple “Wipe him.”

\-----------------------

The darkness that had formed a thick veil in front of his eyes was suddenly gone as soon as a loud shriek escaped from his throat. He sat up, his entire body shaking and covered in sweat. It left a shiny hue on his skin. His heart was pounding in his chest and his breathing was uncontrolled. His eyes looked right in front of him, remaining wide open as the male tried to come back to his full senses. 

He was in a room. A regular bedroom. One of those you could find at every normal house. This wasn’t at the HYDRA headquarters. This was far away from Alexander Pierce, Brock Rumlow and all the others. His eyes scanned the place. It should be familiar to him, right? But he couldn’t put a finger on it. His thoughts were everywhere and a mild headache rose up when he tried to remember where he was. He reached up his flesh and bone hand to grab his head. His hair…clean and soft. It smelled nice. This entire room smelled nice. It gave him a safer feeling once his senses started to register more and more indications of a peaceful environment. This was someone’s house. This was someone’s home. But who? Who kept the Winter Soldier under their roof.


	2. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finds out about his current location, his roommate and a nosy friend...

This wasn’t him. This was someone else, right? Who was he? Where was he? What day was it? What year? Had he been asleep for another unknown amount of time after having his memory wiped? He didn’t understand any of this. Brock must be here. Pierce should be coming soon. He would get another mission, and this time he shouldn’t screw up. He would have to kill someone again, with that dead bionic limb. He would get even more blood on his hands and he usually didn’t even care. But now…he did. And the man didn’t understand. Why did he care all of a sudden? Why did he suddenly realize that what he’d done so often was actually really wrong? Why did he realize only now that he’d inflicted so much pain and trouble upon individuals, families, cities, countries, maybe even the world?!

“Buck?”

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. He remembered things he didn’t want to remember. Things that came with his job as a weapon. He wasn’t a man back then. He was a thing. The closest to alive was when they called him a dog or a whore. Next to those unique moments, he was nothing more than a weapon. A very lethal weapon. His hands were drenched in the blood of countless amounts of innocent people. People that didn’t even deserve to die. Now that he thought about it…most of those deaths never got an explanation. It wasn’t really HYDRA’s habit to explain to him why someone needed to be eliminated. Maybe because he’d refuse if he knew. He’d resist. “Restraint means pain. Disobeying means trouble.”

At those words, a hand reached out, touching the man’s flesh and bone hand that laid resting on the table next to a half finished plate of food. He was being shot back to reality by the touch. His thoughts slumbered away immediately and he soon found himself in a kitchen. It was a familiar sight, yet it still felt strange. Maybe he still wasn’t used to this whole new environment, even though it’s been nearly three weeks since he and his old friend Steve Rogers met again, outside of a warzone or other life threatening situation.

“Are you okay?”

It was Steve who had offered him a place to stay. A place to hide, mainly from anyone that could be a part of HYDRA. Maybe also from SHIELD, since no one but Steve knew where the Winter Soldier currently was hiding. Most people assumed he went back to Europe while others, mainly SHIELD, were still busy trying to locate him. They wanted to be sure about everything this time. They wanted to know where the Ghost was hiding.

“Ah? I’m okay, Steve.” His voice was soft as he set his gaze on the other’s hand holding his. He gently pulled back from the hold and grabbed the knife under his fingers. His prosthetic hand grabbed the fork that laid on the plate, stabbing a piece of meat. “Just…spaced out,” he added in a mumble, not eyeing his friend from behind a curtain of dark brown hair. He just continued to eat in silence, hoping his mind wouldn’t start wandering off again. 

“You really space out a lot. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Perfectly fine.”  
   
Steve didn’t comment. He knew Bucky wasn’t okay. He couldn’t be alright. It was only three weeks after they met again and the Soldier clearly had a hard time dealing with himself. Whatever HYDRA had done to him next to the brainwashing, it had a clear effect on Bucky. He didn’t really function like a normal person inside this society, which forced him to stay inside rather than go out on the streets. He couldn’t afford any suspicious acts if he wanted to remain hidden. It was a sad life, according to Steve, but he was probably one of the very few who knew what Bucky was going through. He himself had seen his entire world change. What he once knew was all gone when Steve woke up from the ice, seventy years later. He woke up in a whole new century, full of unknown cultures, knowledge and technology. He felt like he’d woken up in a whole new world. And so must Bucky. His world has changed even more than Steve’s and it messed with his head. Bucky was nearly convinced it couldn’t get any worse after all the experiments, tortures and brainwashing sessions HYDRA had put him through, but yes…it could be worse. 

He’d fallen into a whole new world, literally, waking up with a weapon replacing his missing limb. It was only the start of his rebirth into a life that could be described as hell on earth. They’d taken away everything and everyone he once knew and trained him to be HYDRA’s Asset, their own supersoldier, based on the idea of Captain America, who once was his best friend…but he didn’t know that back then. To the Winter Soldier, Captain America was just another mission. One of many names on his hitlist. Steve Rogers, once Bucky Barnes’ best friend, was nothing more than a mission to the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t a man. He was a weapon. 

“Bucky.”  
He was gone again. Lost in his own mind. 

“I’m sorry, Steve. I just…need a nap, I guess.”

Bucky got up, leaving his plate unfinished as he headed out of the kitchen. He didn’t even give Steve a chance to protest and he didn’t expect his friend to do so either. The blonde wanted the best for his friend, and if the man wanted to sleep then he’d let Bucky sleep. Some rest would do him good. Steve knew it would, because he’d heard nearly every scream coming from the guest bedroom where Bucky slept. Every night again, the poor HYDRA victim found himself in an endless battle with his inner demons. They never gave him any peace, not even at night. They were everywhere, every moment of every day. They were inside his head and they could mess him up as bad as HYDRA could do it, which wasn’t that difficult since the voices in his head were a grim reminder of his Winter Soldier days. Bucky already gave in to the fact they’ll never leave. He just had to learn to live with them and try to ignore the continuous flood inside his head. People screaming, crying, yelling, dying. He had to focus on his current location and constantly keep his eyes on an object near him or count things. This only to avoid the horrible flashbacks that had an easy game at night. He could somewhat avoid them from destroying him during the day, but not once the sun had sunk underneath the horizon. Bucky was a weakling at night. He was so vulnerable and he hated it. He hurt so bad, every moment of every day and it took its toll on Steve.

Steve had been living with an extra load of worry since he had his best friend back. He was constantly worried about Bucky’s safetly, his wellbeing, his mood, how much he ate, how much he drank, what he ate or drank, how many baths or showers he took, when he changed clothes, his health in general. The blonde sometimes felt like Captain America had been reduced to a father figure instead of a supersoldier. He was the parent figure Bucky once was to him. Steve kept his eyes on his friend, never leaving him. It was just like back in the fourties when Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes kept watch over the scrawny, clumsy Steven Grant Rogers from Brooklyn. Only the roles had changed. 

“Alright then,” the Avenger said to himself, watching his friend leave and head straight for his bedroom. It worried Steve to see Bucky head off, having his flesh and bone hand reached up to hold his probably throbbing head. This wasn’t really unusual for Bucky. It often happened that he’d space out and end up with a throbbing headache. It was basically always the same song for Bucky: his head messing up big time.  
“Poor guy’s never getting any rest,” Steve mumbled. He was swiping the leftovers on Bucky’s plate into the bin that was attached to the door to the cupboard under the sink when suddenly the lock to the front door sounded. Someone was at the door and Steve immediately knew who it was. 

“Who’s never getting any rest?” a familiar female voice asked. There was a Russian accent hidden in her words, which only gave Steve confirmation of his assumption. Natasha Romanoff was currently the only one he trusted with a key to his apartment. Everyone else, even Sharon, his neighbour, had to knock if they wanted him to open his front door and perhaps let them in.  
“No one!” Steve said in a reflex, nearly dropping the plate in the sink. The question had startled him, but he had to hide this from the redhead. Nobody should know he was sharing his place with someone, not even the one he trusted with the keys to his front door.

“Don’t lie to me, Rogers. You’re washing dishes for two. Did you finally find yourself a girl?” Natasha asked when she entered the kitchen, trying to peek over Steve’s large shoulder to see what he was doing.  
“No…it were dishes from yesterday. Lazy day, you know. We all have them sometimes.”

“Sure, Steve. Sure, because that sweater on your couch and the extra jacket on that chair over there were brought to you by a homer, right?”

Damned, Barnes, for leaving your clothes and messes in the open. Was he perhaps taking advantage of Steve’s parenting attitude? He didn’t like this at all. It just made it more difficult for Steve to hide his presence in the apartment, especially towards someone like Natasha Romanoff. She was a former spy who had a training very similar to Bucky. Some even say they’ve spent time together during their training days but it’s never been confirmed. Natasha hated talking about her days with the Red Room and Bucky probably didn’t even remember. Sometimes, Natasha’s careful eyes were more of a curse in Steve’s opinion. She’d immediately notice the tiniest change in his apartment since she’d come here way too often, just for the company because she knew Steve was alone and often had his moments of needing some company who knew what living with PTSD felt like.

“Nevermind. You’re just confused, right?” Natasha gave a soft smile when Steve turned to face her. He had to look down to meet her eyes. He’d never get used to this, probably. He always was the one who had to look up to see a face, even when he was talking to a girl. “You look tired, Steve,” Natasha continued. “Is something bothering you? You’re having a hard time since you saw Bucky again, isn’t it?”

“Natasha…”

“Really, Steve. You can talk to be about anything. You know me. I keep secrets like no one else does. You even trust me with the keys to your front door!”

“I know, Natasha, I know.” Steve placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, pressing a reassuring smile on his lips. “I promise you I’m fine. I just had one bad night,” he lied. “That it. I’ll be fine, really. You know me.”

“Yeah…that’s why I’m here. I know how much Bucky means to you. I feel like, however he’s gone, it still keeps you awake at night.”

“He’s my friend, of course it has me worrying!”

“Aha! Now tell me. What exactly is it that keeps Captain Steve Rogers awake at night?”

“You already said it yourself.”

“Bucky keeps you awake?”

Steve only gave a nod, to which Natasha let go a small sigh. She reached out to grab his wrist and walked the Avenger over to the kitchen table. “Have a seat, Rogers,” she said, nearly demanding Steve to sit down. She joined him at the table and waited for Steve to face her before starting her talking.

“Look. Bucky is out there, somewhere. We don’t know where, but SHIELD is doing their job. They’re trying to find him, Steve. But the chances are big he’s already back in Europe. He went off the radar immediately after what happened at the Triskelion. You know him better than any of us, but what we all know is that he’s a Ghost. Once the Winter Soldier is off the radar, it’s extremely difficult to track him down. It’s nearly impossible, but I’m sure SHIELD will find him soon enough. He’s still a wanted man, Steve, and all this could maybe be a lot easier if you just accept Fury’s request. We can really use your help now, Steve. You know Bucky like the insides of your pockets.”

“I’m not changing my decision. I’m taking a break from everything and you know that. I’m not hanging around with all the others for a reason, Natasha. That meeting with Bucky, it wasn’t just a meeting. I saw the look in his face…”

“…He remembers you. I know he does. You keep on telling me this. But whether he remembers you or not, Steve, Bucky is still a wanted man. You either cooperate, or you stay out of it. And by that I mean completely. You know what’ll happen if SHIELD catches you making a move towards Bucky behind their back.”

“I know, Natasha. I just can’t do it. Wherever Bucky is right now, he’s smart enough to defend himself. I know him. He won’t let them touch him again since he knows I’m still alive and since he recognized my face. He knows who I am and one day, he’ll come look for me.”

“And then we’ll catch him.”

“Nat-“

“Rogers. There’s no other choice. Your friend is a wanted man. You know they won’t stop until he’s caught.”

The conversation continued for way too long according to Steve. This was typical to Natasha Romanoff. She could keep on talking and if she wanted to play nasty, she could even convince you into following her opinion by simply using some small, dirty mind tricks. He hated this about her and usually just talked his way out of it. By the time the conversation ended, Steve was already ignoring half of her words. He knew that she was talking as if she thought Bucky wasn’t nearby, and that’s what Steve wanted. She should never find out about the one standing behind the door of his guest room right now, listening to the entire conversation. Bucky had heard every single word Steve had to say to this woman named Natasha. He kept silent and once the conversation ended, he just decided to finally take that nap he’d been longing for. Bucky trusted Steve on this. The blonde wouldn’t just give in to the woman. Bucky was too important. The former Soldier couldn’t even imagine this conversation ending up in Steve asking him to come out. No, it ended in the expected goodbye from Natasha and the sound of the front door closing again.


	3. Silent Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky are trying to have a normal, peaceful evening watching TV..................trying.

The rustling of Steve’s hand reaching for crisps in the bag on his lap was the only sound in the living room that didn’t come from the flatscreen TV that hung opposite the couch he and Bucky were seated on. They sat each on a side of the couch. Steve had his legs crossed and was eating some crisps while Bucky sat hugging his knees against his chest under a fleece blanket. He had his chin leaning on top of his knees, eyes half open and set on the screen. He still didn’t really understand this piece of technology, among many others and it felt like an embarrassment to ask Steve how everything worked. The blonde didn’t mind to explain everything to his best friend. He knew what Bucky was going through since everything once was strange to him as well. And sometimes, even Steve still didn’t know a small detail, making both of them stare at the issue with a plain, dumbfounded look until Steve finally decides to call one of his buddies, who always made fun of him before helping the man out of time. 

“It’s been a month.” the blonde mumbled under his breath, not really asking for a conversation. He just let the single thought roll over his lips while following the scenes of a police car chasing a sports car through London on the screen.

Bucky didn’t react. The only thing closest to a reaction from the quiet man was him nuzzling his scruffy cheeks against the fleece blanket around him. It’s been a month since things went down, but the wanted man still didn’t think about getting a haircut or a shave. It was as if he didn’t mind looking like a tramp. 

“How are you feeling these days, Bucky?” Steve asked, this time trying to invite his friend for an actual conversation. 

“Hm.”

Of course.  
Steve should’ve seen that one coming.

Bucky wasn’t much of a talker. At least, not since HYDRA had laid their hands on him. It was something that hurt Steve the most, knowing that his once so extraverted and jolly friend now was nothing more but a silent, broken man. A man who doesn’t even know himself anymore. A stranger in his own mind and body.  
He just kept so many secrets Steve shouldn’t know. Bucky hated this, though. It meant he had to lie to his best friend, or simply shut up…and he preferred the latter. It hurt less than lying…for now, but it didn’t keep Steve from worrying about him. Steve was actually worried sick about Bucky, and he had such a hard time hiding it.

“Buck.”

“Am fine.” The brunette’s voice sounded muffled since he’d wrapped the blanket higher so it covered his head. The only thing peeking from underneath it were his feet, covered in dark grey wool socks.  
He wasn’t. Steve knew Bucky couldn’t possibly be fine. In all honesty, it was just too early. Only one month… This wasn’t something you could get over in just a matter of weeks. It’d take months, /years/, for Bucky to find himself again. Only the thought already made Steve’s heart feel heavy. And the realization that Bucky will never be the same again, it just sent a cold shiver down the Avenger’s spine.  
Steve shook his head at his own thoughts. He should be glad he had his best friend back. The only one still alive who was there when Steve was a small, tender boy who needed his best man by his side every moment of the day. Now the roles were turned. Bucky clearly needed Steve…and Steve would be there. No matter what. 

“Actually…I’m not,” the man under the blanket mumbled. Steve’s heart would definitely sink in his chest if he could see Bucky’s face right now. It screamed utter sadness, maybe even the look of a man at the verge of crying. Neither of them actually knew. “I…I miss things.”

His friend nodded, showing Bucky he understood what he was trying. It was more of a useless gesture since the brunette had his head covered by the fleece blanket, but Steve didn’t mind. It was the thought of giving Bucky the feeling someone was finally listening to him for once that counted the most. “I’m all ears, Buck.”

A silence followed. Maybe Bucky wasn’t expecting Steve to react. Maybe those three words he’d mumbled were actually a thought he’d rather kept for himself. But somehow, they found their way outside his mouth, through vocals. It was a long silence, with only the voices of people yelling at each other on TV through a gunfight disturbing the peaceful atmosphere in the living room. Both men seemed to have their focus set on the movie again, but Bucky was definitely lost in his own mind.

Oh how dearly did he want to bury his miserable face in Steve’s chest to just cry about everything that kept haunting him. HYDRA. Especially HYDRA, since they were all over his mind, every moment of every day. How they’d ruined him. How they’d rebuilt him…into their weapon. How they’d used him to kill people…and for their own pleasure. That last thought left an itch all over his body. An uncomfortable itch. Pulling his knees closer to his chest, Bucky hoped it’d fade, but he could still feel their hands on his skin. Fingers buried in his hips. Hands choking him while they put him to shame. His throat feeling sore at the memories of countless blowjobs. His crotch aching at the thought of all the footjobs he had to endure…all the hands that had jerked him off. His stomach turning at every single thought that had something to do with HYDRA. It all left a heavy feeling on his chest. A suffocating feeling he needed to get rid of, but not in front of Steve. He couldn’t do this… Not yet.

“Buck.”

Of course, Steve had noticed something was wrong. He tossed the bag of crisps he was holding on the coffee table and shifted on the couch so he was facing his friend. 

“Not now.” 

Bucky got up, dropping the fleece blanket where he sat on the couch only a moment ago. He reached up his flesh and bone hand to run it through his hair, wiping some strands out of his eyes. His bionic hand tugged the pine green shirt down so that it felt comfortable again…and maybe to hide the bruises he thought he had. Bruises HYDRA members would leave so often after abusing him. But they were but an illusion now, since nobody had touched him like they had for at least a month now. 

He stood up and left Steve on the couch. “Need a breath.” He plucked his grey hoodie from the coat rack without saying a word. His metal hand reached out to snatch the door keys from the cupboard at the front door and shoved them in the pocket of his black sweats. His flesh and bone hand grabbed the handle once Bucky had hidden the other one in the pocket of his jacket. But it wasn’t the brunette who opened the door. It came from outside. Someone who had the keys to this place had opened the door before he could.

Green-grey eyes looked at the taller male from under a hood. Ginger strands of hair fell over the female’s shoulders. Her pink lips parted a bit and her eyes grew stone cold when she saw his face. Recognition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short addition, my muse isn't playing well these days but I really craved some progress on this story.


	4. Drown Your Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky tries out a different way of dealing with his demons.

Natasha had found out everything sooner than both Steve and Bucky wanted it. Of course she did. Maybe she already smelled something suspicious when she spotted that extra jacket in Steve’s living room about a week ago. Both men were convinced she’d find out someday, especially Steve who knew here a lot better than Bucky, who didn’t even remember her at all just until they met at Steve’s front door.

She’d recognized him without any doubt and she wasn’t even sure if she was scared or angry back then. They had a past together. The Black widow and the Winter Soldier. They weren’t complete strangers to each other. At least, he wasn’t to her, but with all of the brainwashing and programming Bucky’s been through, she was more or less another face he couldn’t really recall. Natasha was a blur in his mind, just like Steve has been for so long.

The day ended in a furious discussion between the three of them. Natasha had lost her trust in Steve within a mere seconds and nearly called Fury to tell what the hell was going on behind his back while Steve using his charismatic skills to talk the Russian out of her angry fit and bring her back down to her senses. Bucky just remained confused most of the time, too busy trying to recall where he knew her from. It was all so vague and it left him with the worst of headaches he’s had since his last wipe.

It was a heated atmosphere, but just like always with Steve, Natasha swore secrecy and left. She didn’t talk or look at Bucky again that day and just left the former assassin in utter confusion. She didn’t drop a single word about her past and their past together and it didn’t seem like she will ever do so. Not even Steve could answer Bucky’s questions once she was gone again.

The unlucky encounter was for both Steve and Bucky a reminder of how badly they were playing with fire. Steve had been reminded that what he was doing could get him in so much trouble with so many important people. It could maybe even be the end to his career as Captain America if anyone had to find out he has hiding the Winter Soldier under his roof. Bucky, on the other hand, received a reminder of the fact that he shouldn’t head outside yet. The chances of walking into a familiar face were apparently bigger than he’d expected. Natasha’s encounter also made Steve more cautious. He’d immediately warned Bucky not to head outside anytime soon because the Avenger felt like they were being watched now. People were most likely waiting outside for one of them to make a move, or SHIELD probably had cameras installed near the building, keeping a team on this case 24/7.

Bucky was left grounded by his best friend and the Russian spy he couldn’t recall. He couldn’t head out, not even when Steve was gone because the blonde would find out anyways. Such stupidity wouldn’t get him much further than eight weeks ago, when he ended up all alone on the streets, hiding from HYDRA. 

Forgiving each other after every single, small fight they have nowadays didn’t take away the guilt Bucky often felt. His own stupidity made him feel worthless at times. It was some sort of confirmation of him never being good enough for the normal way of living. He was fucked up beyond repair and Steve knew this, but Bucky always felt like the blonde secretly hated him for that, as if Bucky was too lazy to fix himself. 

Maybe he was…

Steve was out of the apartment again. An emergency meeting with his people. He never told Bucky what exactly was to be discussed and had just ran off, leaving the brunette all alone in his own confusion and mild frustration. Maybe the emergency meeting was just a cover for Steve to escape from Bucky for a little while. Maybe the Avenger was beyond fed up with his shit, but still too worried to flat out tell his friend. 

Bucky never even really knows what he’s even thinking. He’s never really aware of it. His mind just does things, and he lets it happen. He was used to being like this. He never had any control over whatever was going on, it always has been decided for him. Just like back then, Bucky just let something else take over for himself. Instead of Hydra, it was his own mind. He only didn’t seem to realize that this meant he was finally making decisions for his own. He could change his mind, if he wanted to, but he didn’t because he was used to obeying. It was probably also an explanation of why Bucky often did things no one else could understand. He was jumpy, irregular and erratic. He was unpredictable and difficult for anyone else but Steve, who knew Bucky better than anyone else. And yet, even Steve has difficulties understanding the Hydra runaway. 

The TV played in the background. Just like always, Bucky didn’t really pay attention to it. It was more of a distraction to keep him away from completely losing his mind. He was sitting on the couch, or maybe hanging already. It was something in between, but the brunette didn’t seem to care. He lifted a bottle of Scotch to his mouth, taking a huge sip, big enough to empty the bottle. He leaned forward with a small huff and placed the bottle on the coffee table alongside two other bottles he’d finished earlier that evening. There was a fourth one waiting for him right next to the couch and he didn’t hesitate to open it.

His tolerance for alcohol was probably the only flaw he had compared to Steve. They were both supersoldiers, influenced by serums that were nearly alike to each other. There were still a few minor differences, and this was one of them. The Avenger couldn’t get drunk at all while the ex-assassin just needed a huge amount of alcohol before it caused an effect on him. 

Three bottles of Scotch were already something. His head was feeling dizzy and he produced slightly more grumpy groans than usual, especially when he remembered something. 

A glimpse of his shining metal hand was already enough to make him think about things he’d rather forget. The amount of innocent people who have died because of that hand was probably higher than he could remember. Every time again he’d remember different faces. New victims. There never really came an end to it and it only made him feel worse. The more victims, the more guilt.

He decided to lie down on the couch, pulling his legs up and leaning his head back against the arm rest. His eyes were set on the ceiling and the bionic arm rested underneath his head. The flesh and bone hand hung next to the couch, ready to reach the bottle of alcohol that stood on the floor within his reach. 

The news reporter was announcing some item about a bank robbery downtown on the background, but it wasn’t that important to Bucky. He didn’t care about the news. He didn’t really feel like he cared about anything in general, maybe not even about Steve. He just didn’t know. It was probably still too early to think about something as human as caring. 

It was probably still too early for any human thing, even though it’s been eight weeks since he escaped from hell. Maybe it’ll just never be the time to become human again. Bucky knew for himself that he was fucked up beyond repair and he didn’t even believe he’d ever get better again. He was too full of guilt and it followed him everywhere he went. There was too much damage done to him to be repaired. But Steve…Steve wouldn’t give up, ever. Bucky didn’t even understand why Steve won’t give up, but to the the Avenger it was very clear why he didn’t give up. He never did. Bucky was his best friend, his world, his everything. There was no way Steve would give up on him, not until he dies. Not until the end of the line. 

“Oh, Steve…” His voice was soft and hoarse. Bucky let his eyes fall shut, lifting the bottle from the floor to take yet another sip. The alcohol stung in his throat but he didn’t care. It was more of a reflex when he cleared his throat with a frown, putting the bottle back down on the floor beside him. 

Steve…the fear and desperation on his face when he hung onto that ruined cabin of that train in the snowy middle of nowhere. He wanted Bucky to grab his hand so he could pull his friend back on that train and save his life, but the wrecked metal didn’t hold for long enough and the brunette saw the form of his friend getting smaller and smaller as he fell with a loud scream. 

This memory…it was the most vivid one of them all. It was even more clear than any of the murders he’d committed when with Hydra. It was something he was supposed to forget, yet it was what haunted him the most ever since he recognized Steve back on the bridge and on that helicarrier soon after. 

Thinking about this and every single memory that followed for the rest of the night left him with a headache. It wasn't one of those throbbing headaches that made him want to throw up in pain. It was slightly less bad, probably because the alcohol numbed most of the pain the Hydra runaway felt with every single memory and flashback he had to endure. Alcohol was his only escape for now, but no one would understand, not even Steve who can’t even get drunk in the first place. It was his little secret, his little legal sin. 

For now, alcohol was a secret to be added to his huge pile of things no one should know about. It was also the only cure to Bucky’s continuous pain and suffering and it brought him at ease on moments like these, making it easier for the male to finally catch some rest after countless sleepless nights.


	5. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky talks to Natasha about his Hydra days.

The door rang. Steve was out again. Bucky tensed up. He hadn’t called for any sort of company this time, neither did he order pizza or any other takeaway food. Simply said: Bucky had no clue who was at his door right now. Could it be Steve? No. Steve doesn’t ring the door. He knocks twice, then enters the key to open the door. It was something he and Bucky had agreed on to prevent the Hydra runaway from choking him against a wall as soon as Steve set a foot inside his own apartment.   
Someone ringing the door meant there was clearly a stranger on the other side of the wood. It tickled his senses and the ex-assassin jumped to his feet, quietly making his way over to the front door. Steve didn’t have a peephole, which made it more or less a game of guessing whenever there was someone at the door. Bucky stayed where he was for now, a few metres away from the door and waiting for another move from whoever was standing on the other side. Maybe they were just ringing the wrong bell.

The bell rung again, and it made the brunette flinch. Who were they and why were they at Steve’s door? They couldn’t be one of his colourful friends, because they were always with the blonde whenever he wasn’t with Bucky. This person must be someone else. But who? Bucky had no knowledge of Steve having friends outside the Avengers. 

The buzzer made him flinch a third time and it was then when Bucky dashed forward. His human hand grabbed the handle and swiftly opened the door. The metal arm reached out and he grabbed the person at the door by their collar to jerk them inside and pin them against a wall, ice cold fingers wrapped around a pale throat that swallowed loudly before a voice spoke. 

“Barnes!”

His eyes glared right at green-grey hues that glared right back at him. They looked rather annoyed, not even terrified. The bionic hand stayed in its place. 

“James!” The intruder sent a knee to his groin and Bucky stepped back with a pained hiss, letting go of them. Soon, he was the one pinned against a wall and facing their eyes. Their positions had been switched within the blink of an eye and deep inside, it terrified him. 

“James, do you recognize me?” 

Bucky blinked and finally snapped out of his zone of utter concentration. He watched the person who kept him pushed against the wall with both hands holding onto his shirt. They were touching him. He shivered.   
He was facing a woman. She looked slightly younger than him. Bright ginger hair in natural curls that rested on her shoulders, combined with green-grey orbs that kept a stern look. They revealed little to no emotion and if they did, Bucky wouldn’t even be able to tell what they were trying to tell him. 

He knew this face. He’s seen her before. She was Steve’s friend. The one he’d been discussing with for so long while Bucky was hiding in his bedroom the first time she showed up. The girl who had walked in on him as he was about to leave to catch some air. 

“James?”

Why did she know his real name? Did Steve tell her? Bucky furrowed his brows and brushed her hands off his chest, then closed the door again with his gaze set downwards. He didn’t want to look into anyone’s eyes anymore for now. Strands of hair fell forward, covering part of his face. 

“My name is Bucky. I don’t know who you are.”

“Right…” The woman walked further inside, not even asking for his permission because she basically told herself it was okay to do so. “Natasha.” She headed for the kitchen after she allowed herself to do so again. Perhaps, Steve had once informed her about how Bucky doesn’t know about most habits ever normal person knew about these days. Bucky was more or less a dog. He doesn’t really start conversations or offer things. He just waits for the other to do or offer something. “Lost your tongue, Barnes?” she asked from the kitchen, serving herself a glass of water before she returned to the living room. Bucky was still standing where she’d left him. 

“Did Steve send you?” The brunette’s voice was soft and he slowly walked over to the couch to lower the volume of the James Bond movie that was playing on TV. He still didn’t look at her, appearing as if he was talking to himself rather than to someone else. After all, he was used to being home alone every day again. 

“Steve doesn’t know I’m here, and I’d rather keep it that way.”

“Then why are you here?”

Natasha gave a soft sigh and sipped from her water before she answered his question. “There’s things you need to know. About me. About us.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Yes, you do, James. You just don’t remember.”

They watched each other. A silence took over as Natasha tried to seek eye contact with the Hydra assassin who refused to look her in the eyes. He never really did so to anyone. It was part of what Hydra had put in his head. 

_The asset cannot look its handlers in the eye. Looking its superiors in the eye is an insult._

Natasha wasn’t his handler, neither was Steve or anyone else. Bucky knew this, but his programming and conditioning was simply too strong to get rid of it that easily. Seventy years of living like this. It might just take a while before it all wears off and leaves his system. 

“Take a seat, James.” Natasha nodded towards the sofa before she made her way over to the couch herself. Bucky followed and took a seat on one of the living room chairs. He appeared incredibly tense and kept his hands hidden in the pockets of his hoodie as he stared at the coffee table in front of him. Natasha appeared more relaxed. She leaned back a little and watched him as she took another sip from her drink. “You look tense.”

“There’s a stranger in Steve’s house,” Bucky replied after a few seconds of silence, as if he had to search for words. 

“Don’t you think you could easily kill that stranger if you wanted to?”

“I don’t do those things anymore.”

Natasha nodded shortly and watched him for a moment, finishing her drink. “Do you remember anything from your training?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hiding it away won’t help.”

“Telling a stranger won’t help either. Who knows, maybe you’re lying. Maybe you’re not even a friend of Steve.”

“Do I look like a liar to you?”

The brunette didn’t answer. 

“Bucky.”

“Everyone’s a liar.” His voice hitched a little. Natasha remained silent. Maybe Bucky would start talking and opening up if she gave him the time and space to do so. “They said it wouldn’t hurt. They said I’d be fine. They said…they’d let me go, if I complied and did what they wanted me to do. Every…” Bucky fell silent again, his fists clenched in the pockets of his hoodie. 

“They lied to you to keep you on their leash.”

“Restraint means pain. Disobeying means trouble.”

“They hurt you…”

Bucky took a pause, then muttered, “A lot.”

“They weren’t very gentle with you.”

“Gentle?” Bucky finally rose his head again. He didn’t recognize the word and perhaps that looking up at her would prove to her that he didn’t understand. Natasha frowned, taking mental note of this as she tried to press a smile on her lips. 

“It’s the opposite of how they treated you.”

“How do you know what they did to me?” Bucky narrowed his eyes. 

“I don’t know what exactly they’ve done to you, but I’ve been there too.”

“Where?” Bucky really took his time to participate in the conversation. Natasha quietly wondered why, but she didn’t feel like it was necessary to ask. Perhaps it was just how he spoke.

“Hydra. Well, the Soviets. KGB….the Red Room. You’re not the only one who’s once been a puppet, brainwashed into doing what they want you to do.” Bucky felt a shiver run down his spine as she mentioned the names of the organisations that made his miserable life a living hell. “You’re not the only one, James,” Natasha added on in a soft voice, watching him with big, gentle eyes. 

“Did they…hurt you?” Bucky asked, looking down again. 

“Pretty often. Always in a different way.”

“Did they…use your fears against you?”

Natasha nodded, looking down for a moment, then back up at him. 

“Did they…” Bucky felt himself shrink on the spot and he wanted his chair to swallow him as he thought about it. “Touch…you?”

“Touch?”

“….Skin. Did they?”

Natasha frowned. It was clear that the Hydra runaway had trouble expressing himself, as if he didn’t know the right words, or just felt too much tension to reveal this kind of information. Bucky sat shivering on the other side of the living room. Tears welled up in his eyes and he couldn’t be bothered to raise his human hand to wipe them away. It’d be a sign towards the redhead that he wasn’t feeling too well. “Did….they?” he muttered, barely audible.

“No…well, twice,” Natasha replied in a soft whisper after a moment of silence. Her hands grew cold as she thought about it. They were vague memories, but they were still there, on her mind.

“I dream about it…every night. Hands…on my skin.” Bucky’s voice was barely audible and he’d changed from a static, tense person to a miserable sack of tears on a chair. Tears made their way down over his scruffy cheeks as he faced his own lap. His long hair covered his face so Natasha couldn’t see. She could only hear his sniffle and a soft sob, indicating that Bucky wasn’t alright. 

The Hydra victim cringed, tucking his head in between his shoulders as he heard two knocks on the door, then the key turning in its keyhole. Steve walked in, looking fine as always…until he found his two best friends in his living room. Natasha watching Bucky, who was at the verge of a nervous breakdown, palms clenching their fists into the fabric of the pockets of his hoodie. 

“Natasha?”


	6. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky talks about last night's nightmare.
> 
> \---------------------------------------
> 
> WARNING: Graphic descriptions of violence and torture ahead. Please don't read if you're not interested in torture or (Hydra) trash.

It’s been fourteen weeks since Bucky had managed to escape from Hydra and tried to make a living on his own with the help of his best friend, Steve Rogers. After all this time, no one still knew about his current location, except for Steve and someone called Natasha Romanoff. She claimed she knows Bucky from years ago. He doesn’t know or remember her.

She came over every now and then. It seemed to be her job or maybe just her hobby to check on Steve or something. The two of them got along pretty well and Bucky wasn’t entirely sure if he should approve of this or not. He wasn’t used to anyone liking Steve the way he used to do back in the days. Natasha wasn’t nearly as close as liking him in such a way. Bucky would be surprised if the two of them even had something at all. He didn’t know Steve like that. 

Steve was out of the apartment again. This time he’d let Natasha in before leaving. He said he wouldn’t be gone for long because he needed to discuss something with Tony Stark considering the Avengers. It left the two ex-assassins an opportunity to talk about their past again. Bucky didn’t like to talk about it all, but he found himself more relaxed around Natasha than he does around Steve. It’s nearly as if they indeed have a past together that allows him to open up about some things he just can’t tell his best friend. 

Natasha had fetched a drink for the two of them. She’d brought some wodka for herself while Bucky felt satisfied with some Scotch. Just like their first conversation, the two of them had taken a seat in the living room. The brunette still didn’t look up at her like a normal man would do, but things were getting better. He was starting to feel more confident about himself and the normal way of things around people. He has to thank Steve for that. 

“I had a dream,” Bucky muttered to break the silence between them. Natasha looked up.

“Was it a good dream?”

Bucky shook his head. He didn’t have good dreams anymore. It was already a miracle if he could get some sleep. Steve had insisted to visit a doctor for advice and help on his sleeping issues and other flaws Bucky had to deal with since his escape, but the brunette kept on resisting. The thought of a doctor terrified him. He’s been a doctors’ toy for nearly seventy years. He doesn’t want to go back there. He doesn’t want to come near a doctor ever again, no matter how good they claim to be. Doctors are cruel people.

“I’m sorry.” Natasha sipped from her glass. “Do you remember what it was about?”

Bucky remained silent. His eyes looked focused. He was trying to find the right words in English again. Steve had forbidden Natasha to communicate in Russian. The Hydra runaway had to adapt to using English as his first language again. They lived in America after all and Russian wouldn’t get him far around here. Besides, it was a language programmed by Hydra’s Soviet division, so Steve also hoped somewhere deep inside that, if Bucky stopped talking Russian, the language programming might wear off as well one day. He considered it worth a try. “It was dark. As if I was in a dungeon. Or a basement. I can’t remember exactly. My handler…he was there, among other people.”

_The black leather of the handler’s gloves left a nasty mark on his scruffy cheek as the Asset received another punch in the face. It was only the start. What was about to come was far worse. His eyes rolled in his head. He didn’t even remember how many times his handler and the rest of his STRIKE team had punched or kicked him by now. He didn’t really care either. He just had to go through this all over again. It was part of what felt like his daily routine. He wasn’t even sure anymore how many times they’d beaten him up by now. It was all he could remember apart from the screams of victims that didn’t even have a face. The Asset no longer had any orientation of time or location, unless his mission required it. Knowing where he was would increase the chances of the Soldier escaping, if that chance would ever be given to him. It was also another reason for them to keep the man in a dark, cold cell at the end of a dark and humid corridor, stocked away like a tool instead of an actual person._

“They hurt me,” Bucky continued, he kept his gaze set downward.

“It was just a dream, James,” Natasha said in a soft voice. “No one hurt you while you were asleep. I’m sure. Steve isn’t like that at all.” Bucky shrugged softly.

 _He was being stripped naked, the leather and Kevlar uniform dropping to the concrete floor and kicked to the side by his handler’s boot while two of the other men dragged him across the room, his bare heels scraping over the floor. The little wounds stung, but he could ignore it for now. He’s seen and felt far worse. This was nothing. They pulled his hands up above his head and tied him to the wall. The chains were just a little too short for him if he wanted to stand up comfortably. The Asset was forced to stand on the tips of his toes, facing the people in the room. His handler smirked at him, his own cock hardening in his pants as he watched the Soldier’s muscular, naked form wriggling against the wall in an attempt to feel comfortable in his unfortunate situation. The Asset’s cock hung between his legs like a pendulum on a short rope, dangling there like the useless thing that it was._

“They still hurt me,” Bucky muttered after a moment of silence.

 _Another man entered the room. He was carrying something with him. The Asset couldn’t tell what it was. The room was badly lit by only one dirty lightbulb. It was the cell where they like to keep him whenever he couldn’t go back into cryostasis yet. “It’s your lucky day, Soldier,” his handler said, a laugh lingering in his throat. “The mission went pretty well, so we’ve given the order to give you a reward for your excellent work.” The Asset didn’t react. He kept his head down, eyes facing his own sweaty, dirty stomach and his cock that carried bruises that hadn’t left any apparent memory on his brain. How they got there, he’ll probably never know. His human arm began to ache as it was tied above his head rather uncomfortably. None of the men who were watching him seemed to give a shit about his discomfort. In fact, it seemed to amuse them. The man who had walked in handed the hose to Commander Rumlow and stepped away again, crossing his arms over his chest and joining his comrades as they watched the show. “You’re getting a shower,” Rumlow said, that typical dirty grin tugging at his lips as he fidgeted with the handles before twisting the head and pointing the hose at the Soldier. He took a step back as ice cold water fired across the room, hitting the Asset right in the gut._

Bucky subconsciously wrapped an arm around his stomach as he remembered what had happened in his dream, he leaned forward a little. Natasha frowned. “Did they kick you…in your dream?”

“Worse.”

Natasha frowned.

_The Asset squirmed in pain and Rumlow lifted the hose, pointing it right at his face. “Shut up!” he hissed, keeping the merciless, ice cold stream of water aimed at the man’s head for a good fifteen seconds before he let the water hit every inch of his body, taking his sweet time to hurt the sensitive spots the most. Face, throat, stomach, groin. He trailed the hose up and down as another man walked in, pushing a stereo set on a cart inside the room. After all, a party isn’t a real party with some music playing, right? The men laughed out loud as the booster blasted ‘Denis’ by Blondie through its boxes, muffling the screams and squirms from the Asset who had to endure the continuous blast of ice cold water bruising and hurting his pale, shivering skin._

“Music. There was music,” Bucky muttered again after another long silence of him going through a vivid flashback. “There was music playing…in my dream…nightmare.” 

Natasha frowned. “Music?”

“It was a party…My handler called it a party. Because our mission had succeeded.”

The frown stayed on the redhead’s face. The more Bucky opened up about his dream, the more confused she felt. Confused, but yet interested. She wanted to help him, so perhaps it was better if she had better insight of what was haunting the poor man.

“What kind of music was it?”

_Rumlow cackled as he kept torturing the Asset with the ice cold hose, sending water right at his face way often than he should. He didn’t care, honestly. He only wanted to see the Soldier in pain, suffering, until his own cock was rock hard in his own pants. Blondie had stopped singing and made way for Elvis Presley’s ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ as the endless blast of ice cold water kept on bruising the Asset’s shivering form. His cock was slightly hardening under the pain he was receiving and it made every Hydra cock in the room twitch in excitement._

“Happy music.”

_The hose closed and the torture stopped. At least, that’s what the Asset thought. Rumlow stood in the middle of the room, the hose leaked onto his black combat boots, but he didn’t care. The handler stepped forward and reached for the stun baton that hung on the belt around his waist. The Asset didn’t look up, he still faced the floor and watched his ice cold, pale skin turn blue and purple from the torture, filled with disgust at how his cock had gotten hard under the torture his handler had performed on him for a good ten minutes. His dark, long hair was sticking against his aching face, covering most of the damage done by the hose. Rumlow’s index finger felt hot against his tormented skin and he flinched with a groan, looking to the side instead. “Oi.” The man in charge wrapped his hand around his chin to make the Soldier look up at him. “Enjoyed your shower?” he asked. Robbie Williams’ ‘Let Me Entertain You started playing in the background. The Asset just growled in return. Rumlow shook his head and took a step back, shaking the stun baton in his hand before poking it against the Soldier’s stomach. The man’s eyes flickered up for a moment and caught a glimpse of the perverted smirk on his handler’s face before a tremendous shock of electricity made him scream even louder than Robbie Williams._

“Did they treat you well for succeeding?” Natasha asked.

Bucky shook his head rapidly. 

_Ice cold water, combined with the energy coming from the stun baton. Of course. This was Hydra. It was never going to stay with just an ice cold shower. The water was just a prelude to the real pain. Everyone knew that water was an excellent electrical conductor, and they also knew that Rumlow was a slut for his stun baton whenever he could play around with the Soldier. The Asset was used to the regular shocks the batons could perform, but this was the first time in his conscious knowledge where they used a conductor to inflict even more pain. He didn’t understand why, and he couldn’t even think about it either. Rumlow sent a shock through his neck, wanting the Soldier to shut the fuck up again. The stick poked him in his most sensitive areas and he didn’t even get the time to breathe before another shock sent him shivering and twitching against the wall again. His nose soon started to bleed and even though his skin was ice cold, the Asset’s insides felt as if they were on fire. His muscles were burning and twitching, registering all kinds of irregular electric stimuli. He couldn’t think straight at all and just let it all happen, waiting and hoping for it to be over soon. Rumlow on the other hand, was getting off to his own acts. ‘Sweet Dreams’ was blasting through the stereo as the commander kept sending electric shocks through the Asset’s body. He continued until the male’s bruises got worse, turning into burns. The man’s muscles flinched at random, even though the Soldier had lost consciousness somewhere halfway Eurythmics’ iconic tunes._

Bucky flinched. That was it. His entire dream, coming back to him like a vivid flashback in the presence of Natasha Romanoff. He felt sweat forming on his scalp, making the roots of his hair feel damp, sticky and itchy. He gently clenched a fist and relaxed it soon again.

“James?” Natasha had noticed the sudden change in his atmosphere. 

Bucky flinched again, his head stirring to the side and then back to his own lap. His lips parted a little. “I-I’m fine. Just…It all just came back.”

Natasha nodded, eyeing his empty glass. “Do you want another drink?” she asked kindly. Bucky nodded hastily, not looking up at her. He hoped she wouldn’t notice the shiver that kept teasing his spine by thinking to himself that he had to remain as silent as possible. Don’t move, Barnes. Don’t move. If you move, it hurts. 

“No need to be so tense, Barnes. It’s not an electric chair you’re sitting on,” Natasha joked as she headed for the kitchen to get him a refill. Bucky tensed up, looked up with a glare and scooted away from his chair right into the bathroom, his safe zone. His time out zone. 

Natasha looked at him, but let him go. A few weeks ago, she’d have tried to stop him, but now she no longer feels the need to do so. Steve has explained to her that the bathroom was Bucky’s escape zone for when things started to get a little too heated for him. He’d stay in there for a good while until things felt better again, but never longer than an hour. After one hour, it was considered necessary for someone to check on the Hydra runaway.

Bucky took his time in the bathroom, spending a good thirty-five minutes in there. Natasha waited patiently and didn’t look up when she heard the door creak gently, followed by bare feet patting on the floor, making their way to the sofa where he liked to sit. Thick strands of hair covered his exhausted face from her view as he sat down. His eyes itched and his lungs ached, but he decided to ignore it and downed the entire glass of Scotch at once.

Natasha remained silent. Bucky remained silent. The conversation was over for today and the wait for Steve to return back home had begun. The redhead leaned back, switching on the television before she did so. Babysitting an ex-assassin in complete silence wasn’t really very comforting for anyone, not even the Black Widow herself.


	7. Intoxicating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Natasha spend some time together.

Time passed by and eventually, Steve would trust Natasha more and more around his best friend. Usually, it was the blonde who’d take Bucky outside every now and then. The Hydra runaway didn’t like heading outside at all. It made him feel extra anxious about everything and everyone. Steve honestly couldn’t blame the man after all he’s had to go through. 

It always took Steve a while to convince Bucky that it was necessary for him to head out every now and then. Sitting inside all day wouldn’t do him any good and he couldn’t head out on his own if Steve didn’t want him to end up doing something ridiculously stupid or dangerous. It often ended up in Bucky giving in to his best friend, because there was no way for the brunette to stand his own ground anyway. He could try, but it just felt wrong. Going against someone else’s order or words was just something Bucky couldn’t do. He didn’t feel like he was allowed to do so, even though Steve had insisted countless times that it was completely fine for Bucky to tell him if he doesn’t agree. 

For once, Steve had trusted Natasha with the task of taking Bucky with her for a short walk in town. Just a small walk, not long and not far. Both of them sort of felt guilty about it, because whenever they wanted to drag the brunette outside they felt as if they were walking a dog rather than a person. It hurt Steve to have to do this to his best friend, because he’s used to it. Bucky’s used to be treated like a dog. A mutt. Something he’s definitely not. 

The brunette followed the redhead, walking only a step behind her. He kept his hands tucked deep inside the pockets of his worn off, khaki jacket and watched her back from underneath his dark blue cap, keeping his lips pressed in a line as his entire body remained tense. He could feel eyes gazing at him, marking his presence like snipers. He followed Natasha like a dog, but she didn’t mind. She knew he’d follow her. He was too dependent of Steve and the people his best friend trusted. 

Steve had given Natasha some money before they headed out, knowing Bucky would want a break from everything in the little pub the blonde often visited with Clint Barton and Sam Wilson. Bucky liked that place as much as Steve did because it had something that reminded them of the good old times. The interior existed mostly of wood and it radiated relaxation and serenity. It was so small you could easily hide away in a corner and pretend you don’t exist for a good while. Every time Steve took him there, the blonde would tell stories and facts about the pictures on the walls in the pub. Most of them were related to singers and companies that were popular back in the thirties to the fifties, things they were supposed to grow up with. It helped Bucky remember things and it gave him a better image of where he originally came from. 

They took a seat in the corner where they would always hide whenever Bucky joined Steve. Natasha let him take the darkest side of the table, knowing that’s what the brunette really wants. He didn’t show it, but he could feel some sort of thankfulness for Natasha’s anticipation on his train of thoughts and quickly took a seat, tucking his head between his shoulders, eyes set on the table and hands still tucked in his pockets. Natasha sat down in front of him, a certain elegance in her moves as she did so. She had hung her beige coat over the back of her chair, revealing the casual black blouse she was wearing underneath. She watched him with great care. He was her responsibility now and Steve trusted her enough to leave his erratic best friend out on the streets with the Widow. Natasha pressed her lips in a line, a hand reaching out for the selection map. Bucky eyed her move, fingernails covered in shiny wine red pulling the book to her side of the table. 

“Do you want Scotch? Or something else? Water?” her voice was gentle. She didn’t want to scare him. 

Bucky just nodded, it meant Scotch would do.

“Don’t you want to take off your coat? And the cap?” the redhead asked, shifting on her chair before standing up again. Bucky shook his head. It was his way of hiding away from people. He didn’t seem to realize that sometimes, it only attracted more eyes. “Alright.” Natasha nodded and gave him a small smile before she made her way over to the bar. Bucky followed her with his eyes, pale grey orbs following her silhouette all the way through the interior of the pub. He couldn’t lose sight of her, not here. He was outside, in a strange environment full of dangers and all of his senses were fully aware there could be threats hiding everywhere. Even the bartender who knew him and Natasha could be a threat. Who knows? Everyone looked suspicious and they all looked as if they were searching for someone. Maybe they were. He was still a wanted man after all. No one just knows what he looks like exactly. To many, he was still that threatening figure dressed in black leather and Kevlar. That brainwashed assassin. Bucky shrugged, brushing off the paranoid thoughts for a few seconds. Even with his eyes set downwards again, the brunette still felt eyes watching him, even though there was no one around who could see him. He was seated in a corner where no one but Natasha could see him. The people at the bar would have to leave their seat if they really wanted to know who accompanied the redhead that had just ordered a Scotch and a Martini, but none of them cared enough and just kept their focus on their own partners. 

Bucky looked up once she stood in front of him again. His eyes shot down again, glaring at the glass Natasha had set down in front of him. She took her seat again and smiled at him, part of her finding it rather adorable how clueless he looked sometimes. Sometimes she’d feel bad about it, because it was something the Hydra runaway couldn’t help at all. It was how they left him. Helpless and useless. Malfunctioning. It was eighteen weeks later now and things had already improved significantly, but there was still a lot of work ahead for the three of them. But they will get there one day, that’s what Steve kept saying whenever things went from bad to worse once again. 

Time passed by and none of them seemed to mind at all. Not even Bucky, who was easily triggered by too many things, including social environments. More people had entered the pub since the evening had arrived. The brunette was halfway his third drink of the day. Natasha had lost the count for herself and wasn’t even entirely sure anymore if she was still thinking straight at this very moment. Even Bucky could probably guess she wasn't her usual, stoic self anymore. The longer they sat there, the more she talked. It evolved from long silences between the two of them to Natasha mumbling about missions she’s done by Steve’s side. Sometimes she’d let something slip about her own past, things the Hydra runaway found rather appealing. He couldn’t tell why, they just seemed to attract his attention. 

Natasha eyed him, more emotions in her eyes than usual. “Romanoff…It’s Russian. I spent most of my life in Russia…like you. We’re pretty similar on that case, James. You just don’t remember. They made you forget. They wanted you to forget. Too many risks for too many secrets. This wasn’t just an ordinary mission. It was a long term project…and I’m the product of that.” She stopped talking, probably realizing she was getting too comfortable. Bucky just watched her, mild confusion on his mind, but he didn’t stop her. 

“You were my mentor.”

Bucky still didn’t react.

“My handler.”

Bucky frowned. 

“Not a bad one!” she said immediately, noticing the sudden change on his face. “You never hurt me. Well, not outside of our training together.”

Bucky looked down again. 

“You taught me nearly everything I know. I know nearly every single one of your moves.”

Bucky tensed up a little, aware of the threat that sat in front of him.

“It started with training. Just training until I knew everything you and Hydra had to offer me. Then they let us spar. Started off friendly, just little matches. Ended up with fighting until one of us couldn’t continue… We were pretty much evenly matched.”

Bucky just watched her quietly. He usually didn’t like talkative people or noisy environments, but tonight was different. As if he felt better than ever for the first time since he left Hydra about four months ago. Maybe it was a good sign for him, so he didn’t really feel the need to panic. He tried to embrace it instead. Who knows how easily it can be snatched away from him again…

“Fighting was fun. They liked to watch it…discuss it. But we’re still talking about Hydra and the KGB,” Natasha continued. “Eventually…….things got worse.” That was her own cue to stop talking. She knew that what was supposed to come next wasn’t something she wants to remember, leave alone talk about. Not even with the guy who had a major role in these events. Her hand slipped off the table to the pocket of the beige jacket that hung over her chair. Bucky’s eyes shot up and watched how she took out her cell phone. She laid it in front of her on the table and unlocked the screen. The Hydra runaway watched carefully, still not familiar with most of today’s technologies. Her finger slid over the screen and tapped it every now and then, making new things appear after every touch. Suddenly the screen said “Calling: Steve Rogers”. Bucky frowned and leaned back a little when she shoved the phone to his side of the table.

“Tell him to come pick us up,” she muttered, downing the rest of her glass at once, her hand shaking a little.


	8. To Feed A Baby Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha teaches Bucky some life-saving skill.

Time passed by and Bucky’s recovery was going better as the days went by. Steve was glad to see his best getting better again. It probably meant more to him than it meant to Bucky, who was barely aware of what was happening to him most of the time. Maybe he didn’t even realize he was changing again. He just let everything happen and go past him as if it was meant to be relevant for someone else. Bucky more or less felt like a plant, or just someone who was constantly too tired to deal with the world. He was a little more responsive than at the beginning, but there was still a lot of work on him. It’s just a matter of time and it could take a lot of time. Steve didn’t mind most of the time. It meant his friend was getting better. But sometimes, it could indeed get too much for the Avenger and that’s when he leaves Bucky with his best friend, Natasha Romanoff. She was the only other person on this world who could be trusted with the task of babysitting the Hydra fugitive.

Natasha didn’t mind babysitting him. She knew him. He didn’t know her. Well, he did, but not like he used to. Maybe spending more time with him would snap that one set of memories back to life. The Black Widow could only hope. She wasn’t even entirely sure if she wanted him to remember her, yet a part of her thinks it might come in handy one day. 

She found him, sitting in the living room like usual. He was wearing Steve’s clothes like usual. It was still too early for him to head outside to buy his own clothes without ending up in a nervous breakdown somewhere halfway the road. The thought of having to undress in a public space with strangers offering their expertise just makes Bucky want to run and hide. The dark grey sweats hung a little loose on his hips and the black SHIELD hoodie felt like a tent to him. The brunette didn’t mind. He liked his clothes a little too big on him. It made him feel comfortable Tight clothes made him feel as if he’s being suffocated, and he’s been feeling like that for way too long. The only thing that fit him properly was the shirt he was wearing underneath, also one he stole from Steve. It was a shirt that felt just a little too small for the Avenger, so he decided to leave it for his friend who was at least a size or two smaller than the blonde. It once used to be the other way around, but a lot happened since then and it wasn’t entirely certain if he’d ever get back to that phase where he’s bigger than Steve. 

“Good afternoon, James,” Natasha greeted him as she wandered inside the apartment as if it were her own place. Bucky didn’t react with anything else but a rise of his head to check if the voice belonged to an actual person or if he was just hallucinating again. “Did you eat already?” she continued, peeking inside the kitchen from a distance. 

“Biscuits.” His voice was hoarse. It were probably the first words he’d said since Steve left this morning.

“That’s it?”

“And water.”

Natasha frowned. She knew exactly what she’s supposed to do. Steve’s words of “Make sure he eats at least one decent meal when I’m gone.” kept ringing in her head on repeat at this very moment. It was something he’d asked her a countless times, but every time again, the brunette would end up being too stubborn to eat, leaving Natasha with an extra meal for that day. Something she’d have to get rid of later on through an extra intense workout.

“You need to eat more, James.”

“Bucky.”

Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Not hungry.” The brunette added on, hugging his legs up against his chest again to muffle the empty feeling in his stomach. It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t feel wrong either. He was used to that feeling. The familiarity of starvation while with Hydra. One meal a day, existing of the smallest things he could find, accompanied by some water from the tap. It was all he needed to function. At least, that was what he believed in.

“Bucky, you need to eat.”

“I fed myself.”

“That’s hardly a meal, Barnes.”

He cringed a bit. He didn’t like it when people called him by his last name. It felt as if he did something wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t have fed himself. Maybe he should go to the bathroom and shove his finger down his throat.

“I fed myself.”

Natasha pressed her lips in a line. “Come on. Join me in the kitchen. I’ll eat with you.” Maybe eating alone was what kept Bucky away from having a decent meal. She wasn’t entirely sure, but it was worth a try. She praised herself lucky as Bucky stood up from his couch. Her words were more or less an order in his mind, so he did what she asked him to do, still relying on that mechanism of order through pain Hydra had hammered in his head long ago. 

The brunette remained stood in the doorway while the redhead wandered over to the fridge. She didn’t mind him staying where he was. At least he left that couch. She just didn’t look at him a lot, not wanting to deal with that ‘I’m awaiting my next order’ face he gave her. She found some sausages in the fridge, looking unharmed and still edible. “Hey, Barnes.” Bucky looked up, giving a small curious hum.

“Want to learn something for when you’re on your own?”

Bucky didn’t answer and just gave her a dumb stare. “Come on.” Natasha waved a hand to call him closer, the brunette followed in silence, hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie. She flashed him a smile when he finally came over, telling him she was glad he did so and perhaps also hoping it’d make him feel a little more confident about himself in a way. 

“Look.” Natasha took the potatoes she’d found alongside the sausages and stepped aside to the sink. She took out a kitchen knife and started peeling them. “Fill the sink with some water.” Bucky did what she asked, turning the tap and watching the sink fill with water. Natasha let the peeled potatoes swim around in the water until she was finished. “Now where does Captain America keep his pots?” 

Bucky looked around the kitchen for a moment, then remembered where Steve kept his pots. He took one from the cupboard and set it down right next to the sink, remaining dead silent. “Thank you, James.” Natasha transferred the potatoes to the pot, then filled it with water and added on some salt before putting them on the cooker. “Pans?” Bucky obeyed yet again, passing her a pan right away. Natasha sliced some butter in it and let it melt on the cooker before leaving the sausages to cook. 

“Now we wait,” she muttered, watching the food, then looking up at him. He was nearly a head taller than her. “Potatoes are ready when you can easily poke a fork in them and it feels soft. Sausages are ready when they turn a little brown. It’s okay if there’s a darker layer on them, makes them more tasty to eat. Just don’t let them turn black. Then they’re burnt and you don’t want to end up on the toilet for hours, do you?” Bucky just stared at her, taking in the information like a computer and hoping he’ll be able to remember it. 

“It’s nothing much,” the redhead muttered. “But it’s something. You can add on some vegetables too. Tomatoes, salad, peach, apple sauce. I suppose you know how those work?”

Bucky nodded. Natasha flashed him another brief smile and a silence followed. Only the food on the cookers broke the silence.

“They didn’t feed me.” Bucky then said. “They…fed me through tubes. Liquids. They…” He took a break in his words, searching the right ones. English was still a bit of a problem and one of his bigger insecurities. “They…” 

Natasha looked up and the brunette looked around, desperately trying to find his words.

“Soderzhat’ pitatel'nyye veshchestva.” His voice was very soft, as if he felt guilty for using Russian. He knew Steve didn’t like it and that he had forbidden him to use it, but sometimes it was just the only way he could express himself.

“They gave you liquids that contained only the nutrition they assumed you needed?”

Bucky nodded. 

“So you never received any…actual food? Like, meat or bread?”

“Old…moldy bread. Only…Rozhdestvo?”

“They only fed you on Christmas?”

Bucky nodded again. Natasha looked down, hiding away her empathetic look by diverting her gaze towards the food. The sausages were turning a nice shade of brown. “Hey, how about you get us a couple of plates and cutlery?” she then asked nicely in a way to change subjects. Bucky nodded obediently and moved away from her side to prepare the table for dinner for two. He took his time, knowing that if he calculated it correctly, he’d be finished by the time the food is ready.

The sound of cutlery innocently clashing with plates soon filled the silence that took over in the kitchen. Natasha had started eating immediately, seated right in front of Bucky who spent his time staring at the sausage and two halves of a potato on the plate in front of him. He still had his hands tucked in his pockets. He looked at the food, then at the redhead and then back down at his plate every time he felt she was about to look up at him. “Why aren’t you eating?” Natasha finally asked when she looked up, swallowing the food she had in her mouth.

“I already fed myself.”

“James.” She gave him a glare, trying to appear friendly but yet strict. Bucky looked down at his plate again, hands hesitantly rising from their pockets to pick up his cutlery. He eyed the fork and the knife before looking back up at her. “You saw me prepare the food. It’s not poisoned. It’s from Steve’s fridge.” Her eyes looked right at his, wanting him to trust her. It took him another long two minutes to make the next move, finally making advances to start eating his first proper meal of the day very cautiously as if he wasn't even sure if this meal was allowed. By who even? There were no more handlers around and he was a free man. In fact, Bucky could eat whatever he wanted to eat, but it still was too early for that. 

Moments later, when Natasha had finished and Bucky was halfway, the front door opened. Steve was home. Bucky could tell from the two knocks and the sound of the key in the lock. He'd stopped eating immediately, a lump forming in his throat. Steve couldn't catch him like this, that's what his subconscious said. In fact, he wanted to throw up, especially when the blonde showed up in the doorway. The Hydra runaway dropped his cutlery immediately and gazed at him with both eyes, food heaping up in his mouth as if he wanted to throw it all back up in pure guilt. He ate Steve's food. That was not his own food he was eating right there. It belonged to someone else and that thought made Bucky physically ill. So ill to the point where he stumbled out of the kitchen, straight into the bathroom to release himself from this burden.

Steve eyed Natasha, who gave him that "I only did what you asked"-look. He couldn't be mad at her and gave her an empathetic look in return.

"He'll get there one day, Rogers," she said, plucking her jacket from the couch where she'd left it earlier before she headed for the front door. "Patience is key. Tell him it was nice to babysit him again," she added on before closing the door behind her. Steve couldn't even say anything in return and watched her leave, the sounds of Bucky purging out his entire system in the background haunting him.


	9. Cold Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky Barnes almost wishes he hadn't fallen asleep on the couch...

Every week again was full of challenges for Bucky. They were far more eventful than what Hydra had been giving him the last few years. They never even bothered giving him a schedule. No, instead they kept him on ice until someone had to be killed. In the early years, he’d spend every single day again training, training and training even more, in between brainwashing, tortures and brutal sexual assault.

Nowadays, his daily schedules were a lot more peaceful. They were so peaceful, in fact, Bucky sometimes refused to believe he deserved it. But never when Steve Rogers was around. God, he couldn't speak like that about himself in the presence of the blonde. Steve would never allow him to think in such a way and put themselves in yet another heart wrenching, emotionally distressing situation. Bucky didn't like those, however they kept the peaceful atmosphere he doesn’t deserve at a distance. 

He brushes the thoughts off his mind. He can't think like this. He can't tempt himself into treating Steve worse than the blonde deserves, not even when he's not around at home.

It was somewhere early in the evening. The brunette didn't have a clock nearby, so it was hard to tell what time exactly. The sky was turning a new shade once the orange and pink shades had made way for purple and blue that would soon turn nearly black and littered in the white specks of countless amounts of stars. That was still hours away and Bucky already knew he probably won't be bothered to stand by his window and watch it happen. Usually, he's already curled up under the covers of his bed by that time, however he never really slept in the first three hours of his body connecting with the mattress underneath him. Bucky wasn't really the tightest sleeper around. If he could, he'd stay awake and wait until either Steve insists he closes his eyes, or his body forces him to close his eyes. It was an unhealthy lifestyle, but Barnes has always found it a safer option than the countless amounts of nightmares he has to endure every time again when he closes his eyes for a few hours.

Steve had been called in for a mission. Or at least, that's what he told Bucky. The brunette honestly didn't really mind anymore by now. Whatever Steve had been doing all these times he had to leave his best friend behind at their home, he always returned safe and well and nearly unharmed. The few bruises and cuts he would occasionally carry back home with him were nothing that made Barnes worry to an extent he should be panicking. Bucky knew Steve, and no matter how painful it could feel to think this way, the Captain has been able to live without him for long enough to keep his ass alive. Perhaps... Steve doesn't need Bucky anymore...

The male, seated on the couch - or rather hanging on said couch - shook his head softly when he dropped it, closing his eyes with a gentle sigh. His mind was not a safe place, especially when there was no one around to distract him. 

Rogers might be able to live without him, but Bucky wasn't entirely sure whether he would be able to live without Steve. Bucky didn't stay there like that for much longer. He'd caught notice of a bright, flashy colour in the corner of his eye. It was one of many sticky notes Steve had written for him through the days he had spent at the blonde's apartment ever since his escape from Hydra. Through the time they spent together, Steve and Bucky more and more seemed to realize and notice that the latter wasn't in a state as good and as healthy as they both had hoped. Barnes always had felt worse than what Rogers dared to assume, but he never dared to bring it forward, neither did he seem to realize that he had forgotten a lot of things the blonde considered basic knowledge or just simple things he should remember. These weren't only memories from his old past, but also things he had learned since his escape. There were a lot of things Bucky didn't seem to be able to grasp and keep inside that troubled head of his. But Steve had a solution and soon, his entire apartment was filled with small sticky notes in several random colours that carried brief instructions for Bucky so he could remember how to handle a microwave, or the shower, or the television or any other device he'd often struggle with whenever there was no one else but himself and these notes around to help him.

Steve had stuck one to the TV remote. Reading these brief instructions always made Bucky wonder whether his friend has always had such an aesthetically pleasing handwriting or not. He couldn't even tell for himself whether he can still write or not. He's never had to write anything ever since he escaped Hydra and the more he tried to remember, and the more things that came back, the less he seemed to be sure that Hydra ever bothered learning him how to write either. Not even in Russian. Perhaps, he just shouldn't bring this up to Steve. The last thing he wants is the blonde to have even more reasons to lie awake at night. 

"Red button," the brunette thought to himself as he picked up the remote and pulled the note from it. His eyes scanned the paper. It was a miracle. He can at least still read. 

The television screen switched on and just as always, the last programme Steve had been watching was still playing. Where the Avenger had an interest in what he had been missing out on while absent and frozen in the oceanic ice, the former assassin seemed to hold a grudge against everything he had been doing in that same amount of time. Most of what he would see in these documentaries were the consequences of what Hydra told him to do. Most of what people talked about in these programmes were things he had done but often couldn't remember. This TV channel never brought any peace upon Barnes' person. It was why Steve had written down on the little sticky note that Animal Planet - a channel Bucky could watch until his eyes fall shut - was available on code 24. 

The screen switched and soon Cold War sceneries had made way for colourful fish travelling through sceneries that were just as bright as their own forms. There was a gentle, warm voice that provided commentary to what was being displayed, but it sunk away in Bucky's awareness once he sank back on the couch to look at the fish. 

It was soothing to watch these small animals in all kinds of bright colours dance over Steve's flat screen television. It brought peace to the brunette's mind as the fish seemed to chase most of the loud, intrusive thoughts that had been haunting him ever since he woke up from yet another nightmare earlier today.

The longer he followed the slow motions on the large screen, the more Bucky felt a fatigue kicking in. He's been tired for so long it became more of a slumbering feeling than an actual constant burden. The brunette never really seemed to be aware of how tired he was until he could finally bring his troubled mind at peace for long enough. 

Soon, Bucky's eyes closed themselves, but only after he had shifted and moved in such a way that he could lie down on the couch and curl up once he had pulled the large wine red fleece cover that laid on the back of the couch down and over his own body. A black veil draped itself in front of the scenery of the fish and it felt as if he drifted off on a small boat on the same ocean where these little creatures were living, away and headed towards nowhere specific...

-

Oh how could he have expected this moment of rest to happen in peace?

Perhaps, Bucky just can't have nice dreams any longer. Every time again, whenever he closed his eyes, the brunette would end up in a nightmare. Each nightmare always felt worse than the one he had the night before. They never left and he didn't exactly feel like they would ever leave. 

Bucky had fallen asleep with his left leg hanging beside the couch. The heel of his foot had found support on the floor. His other leg just remained on its own side of the couch, its foot finding support against the arm rest opposite the one he was using as a pillow. His leg was bent in an angle since he was too tall for the couch, its knee leaning against the back rest. The male's arms laid over his upper body, the human one covering his stomach while his artificial, metal palm laid resting on his chest. His head was partly hidden in the black hood of one of the hoodies he had borrowed from Steve. The blonde's clothes were slightly bigger than his, so it was only a matter of sneaking around before he could change his own clothes for a set of his best friend's sweats and hoodies. He liked it that way. The sweaters felt huge and cosy while the trousers felt soft as they hung loose on his hips. The last thing Bucky needed in his recovering lifestyle were tight-fitting clothes that made him feel as if he were trapped or suffocated.

Perhaps it was his dream, or perhaps it was reality. There was no sign of awareness of having opened a window anywhere on his mind at this very moment. His thoughts were busy doing different things, generating memories, feelings and visuals that could bring meaning to a soft breeze that had brushed between his legs briefly when they had fallen apart once he drifted off into a different state of consciousness. 

It didn't stay with a breeze. His imagination, a troubled mechanism, turned this innocent sensation into something that had been covered by the lid of his conscious self from the moment he had opened his eyes that morning. 

Hands. 

He could feel them. They were clear on his skin, even with a layer of warm, loose clothing covering him up. It felt as if he were naked, somewhere on a bed or a floor. The hands felt cold and uncomfortable, but he somehow managed to link them to someone. Handler. Just that word. He couldn't link them to a face. There had been many faces named Handler. He was used to obeying to the title. Just the title, not the face. 

There even wasn't a face for him to look at. There were only the hands, touching him and travelling over his skin as if it were their own body. They knew exactly where they wanted to be, spending an uncomfortable amount of time around his lower areas. Sometimes, they would try and get where the man's own hands were resting, but never any longer than a brief second before they continued assaulting his manhood. 

He wanted it to stop, but just like always when this used to happen back at any Hydra or Soviet headquarter he's ever been at, it didn't seem to be his choice to put an end to this feeling or not. Bucky knew, that in this case, all he had to do was wake up. It was easier said than done. 

No matter how hard he would yell at these hands that they should stop and that he wanted to wake up...the assault only went on.

-

All of the air in the living room was drawn to his lungs as he flinched awake with a loud gasp. Bucky sat up on the sofa, his human hand reaching for his chest while the other one braced itself to give his body some support in case it would've been necessary. His breath was racing and his eyes remained wide open. The brunette felt that he was close to hyperventilating and tried hard not to add that on to the heap of trouble he was starting to grow aware of the more he woke up. 

The hands were gone. He felt glad about it. It was one thing less to worry about, but it did leave a mark on him. He closed his eyes when he felt it, not wanting to be confronted with an arousal caused by this nightmare. 

It felt so wrong, and Bucky started to hate himself for it. The more it happened, the more he felt a grudge against himself growing. He couldn't get this far on his own. Not with the human hand, not with the metal hand. It never really worked out for him. As if he no longer was allowed to feel that kind of pleasure, but only the kind of pain and trauma his handlers had put him through for years and years, over and over again, more times than he could remember.

The gasps had faded and his breath had returned back to fairly normal. Only a mere two minutes must've passed, that's how long it felt to him. The brunette then gave a sigh and brushed his human hand between his legs hesitantly. Perhaps it would go away.

-

Soon, the sound of the television playing in the background - a documentary about lions - was being accompanied by the distant sound of a shower running. Bucky hadn't bothered turning off the TV yet. It was most likely one of those things that weren't on his troubled mind at all right now.

There was a small pile of clothes on top of the toilet seat and a silhouette moved behind the thick, blurred glass shower door. Its hands repeatedly ran up and down the head, brushing their fingers through long, dark hair as the male stood there. Bucky had his eyes closed and tried to block out any stimulus that wasn't the sound of the water pouring down on him and the sensation that came along with it. Perhaps, ignoring the icky situation in his lower half would make him forget about it and make it disappear. 

His hands never left his hair or his head. They never went lower than his shoulders, his human one in particular. An outsider would perhaps assume he had some kind of shower ritual, but in fact Bucky simply believed that his body wasn't something he should touch. It was dirtied by others. It wasn't his own territory. On some days, he would think more like this than on others. It all depended on the nightmares he had to endure the night before. Dreaming about rape, assault and abuse often resulted in him waking up erratic and scared, afraid of touches. Even his own. Steve Rogers never really touched him, not even innocently - he respected Bucky's limits. But on days like this one, the blonde didn't even have to come near him. Anything would do to scare the brunette when he feels the way he does now.

He felt terrible. He felt so weak. How long has it been since he managed to escape from Hydra's iron grip? Bucky had lost the count, sadly. Steve probably knows the exact number of days. He could always ask if he wanted to know, but not now. Barnes was all alone at the house. He only had himself, the worst kind of company he could possibly imagine, apart from a handler. However, he wouldn't even mind. His handler would put the pathetic erection between his legs to good use.

His handler would treat him well, right? He wouldn't starve Bucky, or hurt him. He would give him warmth and a room for his own. Maybe not a room like the one Steve offered him, but at least one where Bucky could really feel at home. The handler would offer a feeling of familiarity. Bucky craved a place where he knew what was being expected of him. Steve couldn't offer that. Steve's way of living didn't feel right to Barnes, who was used to a lifestyle full of rules, discipline, schedules and orders. Rogers offered none of those. He only gave Bucky any amount of freedom he desired, which was close to none in the brunette's mind-set on a bad day. Sometimes, he just couldn't live like this. The freedom, the safety. It wasn't something the Winter Soldier deserves, and even though those days were over... Bucky sometimes felt that they weren't. 

Sometimes, he could still feel the Asset inside of him, just like the Soldier sometimes felt Sergeant Barnes on the back of his head. 

His breath gave a hitch under the shower and he tensed up. The water was fairly warm, yet he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He shouldn't remember. He shouldn't feel a second persona in the back of his mind. It was a bad omen. It shouldn't be like this.

Bucky's legs started to feel weak and he bent through his knees. He let his palms rest against the tiled wall and remained seating underneath the stream of warm water. He looked down. The erection seemed to be gone. He could see his toes and how water disappeared in the drain between his feet. There were hundreds of small, dark hairs on his legs. Every time he saw those, he never knew whether to feel weird about them or not. He couldn't remember them being there while under Hydra's spell. Neither did he remember having a simple, exact thirty-eight hairs on his chest. Those never lasted long though, since he often plucked them out at night, when he can't sleep. It felt better that way. He couldn't explain why. 

A headache rose. The Soldier was prodding at his conscious mind. He couldn't let this happen. There wasn't room for two in his head. Every time that would happen, he gets put in the chair.

Bucky dropped himself to his knees so he could use his hands to reach for his head. It hurt so much. He hated these terrorising headaches. They were inevitable and always came unexpected and made the brunette crave a hard punch to the face more than anything else in the world. He knew that he wouldn't get this. Steve never acknowledged his pleas for a punch in the face before. He refused to hurt his best friend and just let his heart be broken by the poor man's painful sobs instead. 

It was a toxic way of living, but it was the only one Bucky Barnes knew. He couldn't help himself and curled up under the warm stream, tears mixing with the water as the Soldier waited for his next mind wipe…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took me so long (blame college and nanowrimo)! But hey, this chapter is a little longer than the others. I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Feel free to leave kudos and comments and see you around for a next update ♥


	10. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha offers Bucky her help.

Natasha kept coming around from time to time to visit the couple of men out of time. She always found herself concerning and caring about them. She could only try and imagine how it must be for them, seventy years away from their own lives, where everything must’ve been so normal and easy for them. Things must be difficult for Steve and Bucky now, and not only the technologic side of it. The economy had changed, society had changed, politics had changed. Everything had changed.

She knew Rogers pretty well, but perhaps she knew Barnes best. They weren’t complete strangers to each other, even with Bucky not remembering who she is. Perhaps, he’ll get there one day. Maybe she should help him, just so that he knows there’s more than just Steve Rogers…

Steve wasn’t around when she arrived. It was just Bucky again, and just like many other times he was watching Animal Planet as she entered. It has been twenty-one weeks since his escape and things were finally getting better for Bucky. It was going slow, but it was happening. The realisation of being on a good way always made him more confident about himself and it was perhaps the nicest thing Steve has witnessed in decades. “Afternoon, Barnes.” Natasha let herself in the kitchen to fetch some water from the fridge. She then joined Bucky in the living room, hanging herself in the empty sofa as if she were at her own home. Bucky had only said a small “Natasha.” in return. 

The redhead’s eyes turned to watch the TV across the room. Tigers were wandering around, seeking for a prey that would serve as their next meal. The male voice that provided commentary to the scenes soon began to annoy her. “You never get tired of that guy’s voice?” Bucky shook his head and Natasha had to try hard not to roll her eyes.

“How are you doing, Bucky?” Natasha asked after another moment of solely non-verbal communication where Barnes was still fascinated by the animals while she was trying hard not to lose it over the voice on TV. “I’m okay.” 

Natasha knew that ‘okay’ meant that he is eating well and doing a lot better at sleeping. His showers are no longer something Steve has to suggest and he has been caught brushing his hair as well. Steve had described it as an incredibly beautiful and heart-warming sight when they last had a phone call.

“Have you eaten anything yet?”

“Steve left me a meal in the fridge. I just have to…microwave it.” Bucky had to think for a moment as he had to remember the right word. 

“Want me to help?”

“You can watch and tell me when I’m doing something wrong?”

“I’m okay with that.” Natasha flashed him a smile. He really was making progress.

-

Bucky had done well on preparing his meal. It wasn’t exactly that difficult to do either, but he still found himself insecure about it. He had instructions to follow, scribbled down on sticky notes that hung on the fridge. They were a blessing and he knew that he will probably never find a way to thank Steve for everything he’s done for him so far. Steve probably doesn’t even expect Bucky to thank him for anything.

Once Bucky had his meal he had returned to the living room with Natasha. The documentary on tigers had come to an end. There were scenes from a war zone in the Middle East, things that would leave him with nasty thoughts. Bucky changed the channels, pressing a random number. Jazz music came on. “At least lower the volume if you’re going to keep that on,” Natasha said. Bucky pressed more buttons and the music dimmed. 

Natasha was the first one to lean back in her seat. They now could sit on the same couch, neither of them making a fuss of it – not even Bucky. “You know, I can help you make Steve happier,” she then said. It was quite sudden, but it did break a silence between them. Bucky was just about to fall back to staring at the television screen again, even when it only showed a picture of the face that was currently singing. “What do you mean?” Bucky asked in return.

“I can show you some tips and tricks on how to surprise him. I’m sure there’s things you haven’t done in a while that are easy to catch up on and that will make Steve so happy to see you do them again.”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

Natasha remained silent for a bit. Perhaps an example would help Bucky understand. “I bet you two used to hold hands or snuggle back in the day, no?”

“Never in public. Wasn’t accepted.”

“Do you two snuggle now? Or hold hands?”

“Can’t.”

“Because you feel uncomfortable?”

Bucky gave a brief nod. “I can’t touch him… I can’t let him touch me either.”

Natasha remained silent. She wanted to offer Bucky the time and the chance to open up about it. Letting him take the lead in the conversation seemed best in her opinion. It would give Bucky the opportunity to choose what he’d like to talk about and what not. Offering him this choice also left Bucky available to share only what he wanted her to know.

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt him if I touch him, even with my normal arm. It’s just, that I sometimes feel these impulses… Moment where I feel tense, as if my body wants to express strength and anger, while all I want to do is sit down and watch TV or eat my meals.”

“That’s understandable.” Natasha kept her voice soft and didn’t say anything more than that. She waited for Bucky, wondering if he had anything more to say about it. 

“I… I have my reasons not to let him touch me. It brings back strange feelings and even if it’s just Steve, I still fear the pain every other touch has inflicted on me in the past.”

Natasha diverted her gaze. She could only imagine how it must feel for Bucky. 

“I miss it… A little…”

“No one can live without human contact, James.”

Bucky would’ve looked up at her if it weren’t for the fact he had grown used to her sometimes calling him James. He’d learned that it used to be his real name, despite everyone else always calling him Bucky. “Do you want it back?” Natasha then asked. Bucky kept his gaze set away from her. He felt a little awkward about it. “I don’t know how.”

“Practice.” Natasha flashed him a smile and tilted her head to the side when she shifted on the couch so that she was facing him. “Bucky… Look at me.” He looked up at her as if it were an order. “Let me help you, okay?” Bucky didn’t say anything. He wanted to throw his gaze back down at the floor instead.

“Here…” Natasha reached out her hand. “Touch my hand.”

“What?”

“Hold it, poke it, caress it. I don’t mind, Bucky. Just touch it. Metal hand or human hand, it’s up to you. I’ll help you with this.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me by just touching my hand, Bucky.”

Bucky held back. He felt like he couldn’t do this. It left a strange feeling in his gut, one he didn’t really trust. Natasha dropped her hand after a while and looked at him quietly, giving Bucky the time to think and reflect. After a moment, she took a breath. “Can I?” she asked, gently raising a hand towards him this time. She was reaching for Bucky’s human wrist, which laid resting on his thing. He tensed up a little and finally pulled it away right before she touched it. “I’m sorry, Natasha… I can’t.” Bucky stood up. He felt a little threatened and out of his fragile comfort zone. “I’m not ready.”

“Then I’ll wait for when you are ready, James. You just have to ask and I’ll help you. I’ll gladly take care of every favour you’d like to ask of me – anything Steve wouldn’t want to do, or anything you’d rather not want him to know about. Okay?”

“Thank you, Natasha.”

They remained silent for the rest of the evening. Bucky changed the TV to something more pleasant than jazz tunes and Natasha provided them with a little snack as they waited for Steve to return back home. She had texted him, asking if it were alright if they could grab dinner together. Steve agreed and Bucky got to pick the restaurant. It would to him good to leave the house once again, especially after the tension he’d felt between him and Natasha. Fresh air would do him good.

Steve and Natasha couldn’t exactly say anything about it when the three of them ended up at a pancake house. All that mattered was that Bucky was smiling and satisfied with the meal he received. Pancakes with cream and strawberry, an upgrade to what he and Steve used to have back in the days – dry pancakes. And if they were lucky enough, there would be some sugar.

The day ended in smiles. Steve’s being one of pure happiness and relief, Natasha’s being one of joy and Bucky carrying one in the likes of the happiest toddler in town. Suddenly, it seemed as if he had forgotten about all his worries and the tense situation from earlier for a while. It was something Bucky had deserved after nearly four months of running from his demons. 

Eventually, the evening ended up being a moment to catch on picture. It was a picture that would decorate Steve’s fridge from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It isn't much, but I'm trying to build up to a bit of a climax in the next few chapters. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudos and feedback are warmly appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, the next chapter should be up soon (depends on how much time college decides to consume)  
> Don't be afraid to share and kudos are always welcome ;)
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr: alveyandthechipmunks


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